Sterling’s face went completely pale. His jaw slackened, his eyes wide in utter disbelief. “No. No, that’s impossible. You’re a mechanic. You don’t have the contacts for that.”
I stepped closer, leaning in until my face was inches from his.
“You miscalculated,” I whispered, the gravelly edge of my past bleeding into every word. “You thought you were messing with a single father who had no resources. You thought you could dump toxic sealant on my little girl, humiliate her, and buy the cops to cover it up.”
I patted the heavy Vanguard patch on my chest.
“You forgot that some people have families much larger than yours. And my family doesn’t take bribes.”
Trent dropped the negatives on the floor, stumbling backward until his back hit the wall. “Dad, we’re going to jail.”
Sterling didn’t move. He stood completely frozen, his entire empire collapsing around him in the dim red light of the high school darkroom.
From outside, through the small basement windows, the distinct wail of police sirens began to rise in the distance. And they weren’t local county sheriffs. The deep, aggressive blare of state police SUVs echoed over the manicured hills.
CHAPTER 4
The red emergency lights of the state police cruisers cast a chaotic, strobing glare across the front lawns of Oakridge Academy. It was a surreal, deeply terrifying scene for the wealthy residents of the town. Fifty massive motorcycles completely encircled the main administration building. Behind them, an army of state troopers, federal environmental agents, and local news vans had swarmed the property.
The Vanguard members hadn’t moved an inch. They stood entirely still, arms crossed, completely unbothered by the heavily armed state police assembling across the lawn. The troopers were tense, hands on their holsters, clearly unsure how to handle a blockade by one of the most notorious motorcycle clubs in the country.
But they didn’t have to handle it.
I walked out of the shattered glass doors of the arts building, keeping Maya securely tucked under my arm. Jax walked beside me, entirely unfazed by the flashing lights, and the two private security guards walked ahead of us, their hands zip-tied by Jax’s men.
Behind us, flanked by two more enforcers, walked Richard Sterling and his son.
Sterling looked like a ghost. His perfectly tailored suit was rumpled, his hair disheveled, and his eyes stared blankly at the ground. He had lost everything in the span of thirty minutes. His money, his reputation, his freedom.
A tall man in a dark windbreaker with ‘FBI’ printed across the back pushed through the line of state troopers. He took one look at me, looked at the Vanguard patch on my chest, and sighed heavily.
“Marcus Vance,” the agent said, walking toward me. “I thought you retired from this life a long time ago.”
“I did, Agent Thorne,” I replied, recognizing him from a federal task force that used to monitor the club a decade ago. “Just called in a few old friends for a family emergency.”
Thorne looked past me to Sterling, who was shivering despite the warm night air. “We intercepted the encrypted files sent from a proxy server. The EPA is already locking down the Silver Creek site. We found the barrels. High-grade caustic hydro-sealant and illegal chemical runoff. He was trying to bury it and pave over it before the city inspectors finalized the zoning permits.”
“He had my daughter assaulted to cover it up,” I stated, my voice flat. “Trent Sterling and three accomplices ambushed her, destroyed her property, and coated her in the toxic sealant to mask the attack as a prank. The principal of this school helped cover it up, and Sheriff Brody threatened me with a trespass warning to keep me quiet.”
Thorne’s eyes narrowed. He looked at Maya, taking in the residual blue staining around her hairline and the sheer exhaustion in her posture.
“Are you willing to go on record with all of this?” Thorne asked.
“Every word,” Maya spoke up quietly, her voice trembling but incredibly brave. “I have the physical negatives of them dumping the barrels in my pocket.”
Thorne nodded sharply. He signaled to the state troopers. “Take Richard Sterling and Trent Sterling into custody. Charge them with conspiracy to commit environmental terrorism, assault, and destruction of evidence. Send a squad car for Principal Miller and Sheriff Brody. I want them all in federal holding.”